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I tore down the stairs. I raced down the corridor. I sprinted through the Polar Trinity.
Christian was just about to enter the bathroom. “Out of the way!” I grabbed him and flung him to the side.
I ran to the medicine cabinet. There it was: Bonita’s medicine.
Oh, shit. This is not good.
I exited the bathroom just as quickly as I’d entered.
“Everything okay?” Christian asked.
“No, everything’s not okay.”
No one could recall having seen Bonita, not since she excused herself from dinner last night. I asked Sasha and her men. None of them had seen her, either.
“Is everything okay?” asked Dan.
“Probably,” I lied. “She probably just went out for a jog.” I didn’t want to lie to Dan, but I wanted to get him involved even less. Bonita’s absence was a problem, but it was a Savage Seven problem.
The team gathered in the entryway. Trevor gave the orders. We were to fan out, search the forest and reconvene in front of the house in exactly two hours.
Those were the longest two hours I’d ever experienced. Walking through the forest, the only sounds were my feet crunching on the snow and me and my friends calling out the name of the woman we loved.
“Fuck,” said Ben. “She’s gone after the photos.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” said Trevor.
“Yes, we do,” said Ken. He lifted his arm then poured out a handful of pebbles. “There’s a trail of these, leading to…” He pointed in the direction of the spy house.
“Perfect,” said Christian. “All we have to do is follow the trail.”
“I did follow the trail, you idiot!” shouted Ken.
“Hey!” Christian stuck out his chest and stepped up to Ken. “Watch your tone, Ken.”
Trevor stepped between them. “Everybody relax. We don’t have time for that now,” he addressed Ken. “You followed the trail. And where did it stop?”
Ken gulped. “A few yards from the neighbor’s house.”
Trevor didn’t need to give the order. We were off, all of us, back into the forest.
This time we weren’t calling out Bonita’s name. We were silent. This time, we weren’t walking. We were a team sprinting toward our unique objective.
17
Bonita
Gagged and bound, lying on the floor in the house of my enemies. Worse than my enemies, my friend, Sasha’s, enemies. The nausea and queasiness that had struck me the night before came back. But I knew that this was the least of my problems.
I’m sorry, Greta.
For some reason, of all the people I had to say I was sorry to, Greta was the one I thought of first and foremost. Maybe because she was the last person I’d spoken with. Maybe because I knew that I was letting her down most of all.
Greta didn’t have an easy life. She had her brother, and she had me. Besides that, she had a lot of hard times. I’d gone off and done something stupid. I didn’t really expect to get out of it. Now, I wouldn’t be there for Greta anymore. So as to not let down one friend, I ended up letting down another.
I’m sorry, Greta.
I really fucked up this time. But I hope that at least now you’ll understand that what happened seven years ago in your car wasn’t your fault. You see, I was determined to get myself into trouble.
That was poor consolation. I knew it would be poor consolation to Greta, as well.
Next, I thought of my brother, Guillermo. I was going to die here in Iceland. And my brother would blame Noah. My brother was going to kill Noah. That was for sure.
Poor Noah. Two weeks ago, he was a good friend. Now he was a lover—a great lover. And one of seven!
The hours passed. Or it may have been minutes. It was impossible to tell. I figured I’d arrived at half-past two, which meant I had approximately eight hours before the sun would come up. I didn’t know what my captors had planned to do with me. I only hoped that they would do it quickly.
Seven years ago, when I’d snuck out with Greta to go to that stupid party, I knew I’d be okay as long as I made it home before sunrise.
I was only sixteen at the time. Sixteen and feeling invincible.
At five in the morning, the party was still going strong. Greta begged me to leave.
“Greta, don’t be such a stress queen,” I’d said. “One more drink. One more dance. Ten more minutes.”
Forty minutes later, I fell into a comma in the passenger seat of Greta’s car as she was rushing to get me home.
I’d been foolish then. And I was foolish now.
When will I learn? Apparently not in this lifetime.
The hours passed. Or it may have been minutes. The sky was now a lighter shade of black.
I’d stormed out of Sasha’s house angry at my friends. That was long forgotten, now. I wanted to see them again so badly. Touch them, kiss them, hold them.
